


teething

by tea_at_twilight_time



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: :'), Creeper Elias Bouchard, Crying, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Literally have no idea how to tag this, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Teeth, Vomiting, Whump, a whole lot of it, aaa i'm so glad those tags exist. hdfklasj, also some age regression elements because of who i am as a person, creepy caretaking, dshaflksdjfl, elias is doing his damnedest to infantilize his archivist, from the man himself!, if you have emetophobia you probably won't have a good time, makeshift dentistry, realized we might. need that tag. asdlkfajsdf, reasons why elias shouldn't be allowed to perform medical procedures, some references to jon's kidnappings, sorta? there's a lot of gagging and spitting, teeth pulling, there's a lot of rambling here i'm sorry i just., to what end who knows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_at_twilight_time/pseuds/tea_at_twilight_time
Summary: As part of his transformation into an avatar of the Beholding, Jon's starting to grow some new teeth. Unfortunately, his original, human teeth still seem to be in the way.And more unfortunately than that, Elias seems to have a solution.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, can be read as pre jonmartin but they're not official or anything
Comments: 19
Kudos: 134





	teething

**Author's Note:**

> things i should've been working on: the next chapter of tlmdaaca, [REDACTED]  
> things i worked on instead: fuckin. this 
> 
> idk my guys my brain latched onto the idea of teeth pulling and it wouldn't let it go and know i have five thousand words of. this. what the fuck. why am i like this. hasdlfjsadlkf. the multiple chapters are marked because i miiiight wanna return to this later? but if i do it's not gonna be for a while because like i said i have oTHER THINGS TO BE WORKING ON GODDAMMIT 
> 
> okay anyway! i guess this is supposed to take place in some vague point in season three but don't worry too much about it because i sure as fuck didn't lmao. enjoy i guess??

“Jon.” 

Jon scowls down at his desk, pointedly trying to avoid Elias’s gaze. “Elias,” he says softly, before wincing and rubbing his jaw at the sudden, sharp pain that shoots through his gums. 

Elias smiles, humming to himself. He takes a few steps forward, and Jon hisses, covering the side of his face with his hand. 

“I think you understand what’s happening to your mouth, yes?” 

Jon stays quiet for a moment. His fingers curl in on themselves, his nails digging into his palm. 

“I’m growing a new set of teeth,” he says softly, closing his eyes tightly. “They’re—they’re pushing the old set out of the way, right?” 

“Yes, that’s exactly right!” Elias croons like a child’s cartoon character, and oh, Jon just _hates_ him. “Well, anyway. I’m here to help with the process somewhat. I think it’ll be easier for you to handle if we just went ahead and got the old set out of the way already, yes?” 

Jon takes one look at him, at the pliers and the bucket in his hands. He instantly blanches, shaking his head violently, despite the dull ache in his mouth. “You’re _kidding_.” 

“I’m not,” Elias says simply, taking another step closer. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way. I have brought restraints with me, just so you know.” He pats the large, bulging pocket of his jacket at that, and Jon Knows he’s not bluffing. 

White hot terror flashes through him, and he starts to tremble at the thought of being tied up again. He inhales sharply through his nose, trying to keep his breathing at a reasonable rate before he passes out. 

“P-please,” he says quietly, even as he reaches up and rubs at the inside of his mouth in a futile attempt to soothe the pain. “There’s—there’s got to be a better way—” 

“Jon. This is for your own good,” Elias says, setting the pliers down so he can reach over and run his hand over Jon’s hair. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was what’s best for you.” 

Jon flinches at his touch, letting out a low growl. “ _Don’t_ , don’t _do_ that,” he snarls, batting at Elias’s hand. His gaze once again drifts to the pliers, and a wave of anxiety hits him so hard that he feels dizzy, like he’s going to puke. “Did you at least bring anesthesia?” he asks, and he hates that his voice sounds so small. “Anything to numb the pain?” 

Elias sucks in a breath through his teeth. Jon’s stomach jumps, and he immediately leaps to his feet, fearful tears popping into the corners of his eyes. 

“N-no! Elias, you _can’t_ do this!” He can feel himself start to hyperventilate, and he quickly makes his way to the door. “I-I wanna get out of here—” 

Elias lets the bucket fall to the floor with a startling _clang_ that makes Jon jump. He grabs him by the waist and forcefully drags him back over to the chair, holding him down easily even as Jon starts to flail and smack at him uselessly. 

“You _can’t_ do this! You _can’t_ , you can’t you can’t you can’t…” Jon’s chest heaves as he struggles, and a few stray tears leak down his cheeks. “Y-you can’t force me to do _anything_ , what the fuck do you even know?! You’re not a goddamn _dentist_ , you can’t…” He inhales sharply, starting to cry in earnest. “Elias, _please_!” 

Elias continues to stay silent. Jon thrashes and rants and wails, but it does nothing except tire him out. Even his harshest hits don’t seem to wear down Elias’s resolve, or even hurt him at all, really. It makes Jon feel sick, and he can feel helplessness setting in. 

Eventually, he exhausts himself, and he lets his head drop back against the back of the hard wooden chair. His cheeks are wet, and Elias’s fingers come up to wipe them dry. 

“Ssh. Sssshh,” he soothes, pressing his lips to Jon’s forehead. “I know, Jon. I know. But it has to be done.” 

He pulls back, and his expression is...terribly soft. It almost makes him look forgivable. Almost. But Jon still hates his guts, is still terrified of what he’s about to do to him. 

“C-can,” he gasps, and he grabs onto Elias’s jacket, unsure of whether he wants to pull him forward or push him away. “Can we at least wait? I-if I can’t deter you, can’t we at least, _please_ wait and do this some other day?” 

Elias sighs. “Jon. This is going to happen, whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I need to bring out the rope?” 

Jon trembles, squeezing his eyes shut. “I-I’ll cooperate. Please don’t tie me up, please…” 

“Good boy,” Elias says, smiling and patting Jon’s head. Jon hisses, glaring daggers at him. 

His stomach rolls as Elias pulls white towels out of the bucket, dread building in his chest. Elias ties one of them around his neck like a bib and places another over his lap, and the last one is laid out next to Jon’s chair, the bucket placed in the center of it. 

“Once again, so we’re clear. I don’t have to restrain you?” Elias asks, and Jon scowls at him before nodding mutely. “Excellent.”

“I really can’t talk you out of this?” Jon asks, his voice shaking. 

“I’m just trying to help you, Jon. Your teething will progress much more smoothly once this is over.” 

Well, Jon doesn’t know about that, but he’s too scared and tired to argue. He just watches Elias pick up the pliers, and he whimpers, keeping his mouth firmly closed. His gums throb, but he powers through it, petrified at the thought of a worse, harsher pain. 

“Jon. Love.” Elias’s voice has never been so soft with him before, and his hands are gentle as he pries his jaw open. “It’s alright. Let’s get this over with and I’ll take care of you afterwards. I promise.” 

Jon’s breath hitches. The pliers come closer, closer, and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

The first tooth is yanked out, and Jon _screams_. He can feel the white hot pain of the roots being ripped out of its place in his gums, leaving an empty pocket behind where the new, sharper tooth is starting to come in. Blood fills the empty space, pouring into his mouth and bathing his tongue in a sticky metallic flavor, and the overwhelming sensation makes him want to vomit. 

“Hmm. That one came out easily,” Elias says, his voice mild as though he were commenting on the weather. He tosses it into the bucket, and it makes a plinking sound as it hits the bottom. 

Jon sobs, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. Elias shushes him again, once again stroking his hair. 

“Oh, I know, Jon. I know. It’s alright, though. Ssshh. It’s alright,” he soothes. “That one was loose, though! Perhaps the other ones will be as well, this’ll be much harder if they aren’t.” 

Jon gurgles in response, blood mingling with spit and drooling down his chin. Elias hums, using the makeshift towel-bib to wipe his chin. 

“Here we go. We’re gonna move on, okay?” He places the pliers on the next tooth, and once again, he yanks it out with little ceremony. 

Jon cries out again, more blood filling his mouth. Elias tilts his head forward, letting him dribble red tinted drool onto the towel, petting his hair some more. 

“Perhaps I should’ve brought more towels, or another bucket,” Elias hums, considering. “Bit of an oversight there. I apologize, Jon. Hopefully we don’t ruin your clothes with all this.” 

Jon whimpers in response. Honestly, he doesn’t _care_ about his damn clothes. He just wants this to be over with as fast as possible so he can _rest_. 

“Right,” Elias says, responding to his unspoken thoughts. “I’ll be quicker.” 

Elias continues. Each tooth rips a new hole in his gums, introducing another point of hot, throbbing pain in his already aching mouth. Jon is helpless to do much more than try not to choke on his own blood, spit and tears, crying out quietly from the pain. 

Unfortunately, Elias eventually runs out of easily accessible teeth, leaving only his back molars. He sighs, giving Jon’s shoulder a few gentle pats. 

“Jon, darling, I’m afraid this isn’t going to be pleasant.” 

_What part of it was?_ Jon thinks, before suddenly Elias is yanking his jaw as far open as possible. Jon gags, both from the force of the motion and the sudden wave of blood pouring into the back of his throat, and he’s suddenly certain that he’s going to _die_ here. 

“Sssh, sssh, it’s alright,” Elias says, even as he forces the pliers further down into Jon’s mouth. 

It just makes Jon gag harder, nausea and bile turning in the pit of his stomach. Blood pools at the opening of his esophagus, and he tries his damnedest to swallow it, choke it up, projectile vomit, _something_ to keep it from choking him. He tries to force air through his nose, hoping it’ll soothe the turning in his belly, but it doesn’t seem to help. He’s just more aware of the metallic scent of his own blood. 

“I’m moving as quick as I can, Jon, just hold on,” Elias says, continuing to pull teeth. If he’s aware of Jon’s stomach’s persistent attempts to devoid itself of all contents (and Jon’s sure he is), he’s evidently decided to ignore it in favor of ripping out molars as fast as possible. 

But those damn pliers aren’t helping either. Jon weakly grabs onto Elias’s wrist as he tries to reenter, and he bends forward, gagging and hurling up blood and spit onto his lap. 

Elias makes a disgruntled noise, and he grabs the bucket off the ground and guides his spewage into it. He comes over to his side and rubs his back while he not-quite-vomits, and Jon hates that he finds it even slightly comforting. A waterfall of red tinted saliva and bile pours from his lips, and he closes his eyes tightly, salty tears and sweat soaking his face.

By the end of it, Jon is a mess, bloody and covered in his own drool, snot dripping down his face as he sobs his heart out at the pure and utter _pain_ he’s in. Elias takes the bucket from his lap and sets it back on the floor, before wrapping his arms around him. He holds him close, guiding his head to rest gently on his shoulder, apparently not minding the blood.

“Jon,” Elias murmurs, one hand cupping the back of his head, stroking his hair, and the other hand stroking his back loosely. “We have seven more teeth to go.” 

Jon sobs weakly, hiccuping into Elias’s shoulder. “Wanna s’op,” he slurs, struggling to speak without his teeth. 

“I know,” Elias croons placatingly. “Oh, Jon, I know. But we have to finish it.” 

Once again, Jon’s tears pick up. He cries hard into Elias’s shoulder, one hand gripping tight to the front of his suit jacket. 

“Hur’s,” he moans, praying that Elias has some mercy in him, somewhere. 

But Elias just shakes his head. “I know. And I’ll take good care of you when we’re done with this. But we have to finish what we’ve started.” 

Jon cries a little longer after that. He continues to drool blood, and he at least has the satisfaction of staining Elias’s suit permanently through all this. Serves him right. 

Eventually, though, he calms down, tears now coming a few at a time rather than in thick rivulets trailing down his cheeks. Elias pulls away and kisses his forehead, ignoring Jon’s scowl of disgust as he does so. 

“I’ll make it quick,” he assures him, and Jon once again feels fear sink into the pit of his stomach, _That’s what you said last time._

He gives Elias his best puppy eyes, silently begging him to reconsider, but Elias is already grabbing the pliers all over again, his hand cupping his jaw. 

“Do you like ice cream, Jon?” he asks, and his smile is almost warm, but there’s something so, so _off_ about it. “I’ll buy you some ice cream. You can have it after the wounds heal over, and the bleeding is no longer an issue.” 

Jon whimpers, and he starts to protest again, or maybe beg, but then once again the pliers are being shoved into the back of his mouth. 

He starts to gag again, but Elias is more careful this time, doing his best to be in and out before he can work himself up into full on puking. He even gives him a chance to breathe in between pulling. It slows down the process a bit, but Elias does eventually finish, and he takes a step back to admire his work. 

“Keep your mouth open, Jon,” he says, pulling a white washcloth out of one of his pockets. “I’d like to check something.” 

He wipes Jon’s chin and lips before peering into his mouth, getting a good look at his gums. He hums thoughtfully, before nodding, and wiping Jon’s mouth again. 

“Your new teeth are coming in quite nicely,” he says, sounding disgustingly pleased with himself. “Of course, they’re going to be sore coming in, but I have something for that.” He smiles, chucking Jon under the chin. “You’ll be alright if I step out for a moment? I have to grab something for you, dearest.” 

What’s with the touching and the pet names? Jon had been distracted by the pain and general fear beforehand to really give it proper attention, but now it’s really starting to grate his nerves. Elias doesn’t have the _right_ to touch him and comfort him, not after all the pain he just put him through. Why does he think Jon would put up with it? 

Except...Jon _is_ putting up with it, isn’t he? A part of him is kind of desperate, he thinks. This had been the first time he’d been shown any real affection in a long time, and a disgusting part of him had melted into it, just happy to have any form of comfort for once. 

Even worse is the fact that the thought of Elias leaving is actually kind of terrifying. He doesn’t want to be left alone, not right now, when his mouth hurts so badly and he’s sitting next to a bucket of his own teeth. The thought puts him dangerously close to crying again, but he steels himself and nods, refusing to give into his sickeningly childlike desire to not be left alone. 

The smile on Elias’s face turns pitying and knowing, and Jon looks down at his lap. 

“I’ll be quick,” he says, and the phrase sends shivers down Jon’s spine. 

Before he can think it through, Jon’s hand shoots out and grabs Elias’s wrist, unable to contain his trembling. He feels _miserable_. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, probably won’t want to be here for a while. At the very least not until the smell of blood clears out of the room. 

“Oh?” Elias quirks an eyebrow, and Jon _despises_ him for it. “Well, alright then. I’ll take you with me. I suppose I’d have to get you out of here at some point, anyway.” 

Elias takes the towels off of him, folding them and setting them on the towel next to the bucket. He sets the pliers down on top of them, as well as the soiled washcloth, before turning his sights on Jon himself. He pulls a clean washcloth out of his pocket, and Jon wonders how many he brought with him as he passes it over. 

“I’m assuming your mouth is still bleeding?” Elias says jovially as Jon takes the cloth and puts it up to his mouth. “Yes, yes, there you go. That’s to catch the blood, dear.” 

Jon scowls up at him, but it’s half-hearted. He starts to get to his feet, but his legs feel like jello, and as soon as he manages to stand he’s only really able to stumble forward into Elias’s chest. 

“Poor thing,” Elias coos, his hands coming up to support Jon’s back. “Are you having a bit of trouble there, Jon?” 

Before Jon can even attempt to answer, Elias’s hands are horrifyingly slipping down to his backside, and suddenly, he’s being lifted up effortlessly, propped up on Elias’s hip. Jon’s hands flail for purchase, and he clings to Elias’s neck like a cat being rescued from a tree, eyes comically wide from the shock of it. 

“Hmm. You’re just as light as I expected,” Elias says, and maybe if Jon weren’t so busy trying to process the situation he’d be upset at that comment. 

But all he can do is drop his head against his shoulder helplessly, pressing the washcloth up against his mouth as Elias whisks him out of the office. 

* * *

They stop in the breakroom. Elias sets Jon on the counter, and Jon closes his eyes, letting his head fall back a bit. Christ, he’s tired. Whatever Elias is getting better be worth it, because all he wants to do is collapse on the cot in document storage and sleep. 

“Jon.” 

Jon whines childishly, and he opens his eyes, fixating his eyes on the item in Elias’s hand. And then immediately, he stares up at Elias and gives him his best _What the actual fuck_ look. 

It’s a teething ring. Elias has brought him a yellow teething ring. As in, the thing people give to _babies_. 

“Don’t give me that look, dear,” Elias scolds, handing it over more insistently. “Your gums are going to be sore as your teeth come in, and, well, given that this isn’t a problem _adults_ usually have to deal with…” 

Jon stares at it for another minute. He considers cursing Elias out. Grabbing the stupid teether and throwing it back in his stupid face. Throwing a punch at him and attempting to run. 

But what would that prove? That he’s a child throwing a tantrum? All any of that would accomplish is wearing him down even further, with the added bonus of Elias being mad at him on top of it. His gums hurt _so bad_ , and he’s just _so tired_. 

He takes the teether and slips it into his mouth, blowing out a relieved sigh through his nose as the cold hits his sore gums. He lets his eyes fall closed again, but he still manages to catch a glance of Elias’s pleased smirk. 

“There you go,” he says. “There’s a good boy.” 

Elias picks him up again, but Jon barely registers it, already starting to drift off against his shoulder. The bleeding has mostly stopped, thankfully, and what blood that still is coming out of where his molars used to be drools out onto Elias’s jacket, soaking into his expensive clothes. It gives Jon a bit of petty joy to think about. 

He’s taken into document storage, and he sags in relief as he’s finally, _finally_ laid down on the cot. He doesn’t care that Elias is still with him, taking off his shoes and glasses, he just lets himself relax into the mattress, curling into himself as he starts to drift off. 

He does open his eyes again though as Elias sits next to him, beginning to run his fingers through his hair. It is admittedly kind of soothing, but the fact that it’s _Elias_ of all people kind of dampens that comfort. Jon glares up at him, gumming lightly at the teething ring, silently demanding him to explain just what the _hell_ he thinks he’s doing. 

“It’s alright, darling. Just rest now,” he says, tucking a strand of Jon’s hair behind his ear. “I won’t hurt you. The worst part is over now.” 

Jon huffs at that, but he lets his eyes fall closed once more. He can feel shuffling next to him, and suddenly, he feels Elias laying down next to him. He drapes his arm over him, pulling him close, and Jon can smell the overpowering scent of his expensive cologne and the slight tang of blood on his silky shirt. 

Jon’s not sure how he feels about the situation. Elias’s touch simultaneously warms him and makes his skin crawl, and he tries to roll over, only for Elias to hold him somehow closer. 

“You’re very important, Jon,” he whispers, one hand remaining in Jon’s hair, the other hand petting the small of his back. “More important than you realize. You’re something very, very precious to me. My little Archivist.” 

Elias presses his lips to Jon’s forehead once more, and Jon shivers, ducking his head. 

That makes Elias chuckle. “You’re going to do _such_ great things for me. Sleep tight, little one.” 

Jon grunts around his teether, and he lets himself drift off, falling easily into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When Jon wakes up, he can still smell Elias’s cologne, despite the man being conspicuously absent. He lets out a low whine, stretching his arms out in front of him, and rolling over onto his back. 

There’s still something cold and hard in his mouth, soothing his gums. It doesn’t feel like the ring, though. 

“Jon?” 

Jon’s eyes fly open, and he tilts his head in the direction of the voice. Martin is there, gazing at him with a worried stare, his eyes conspicuously flicking toward his mouth. 

What _is_ in his mouth? Jon takes it out, and his face turns hot as he realizes it’s another teether, this one blue, shaped like a rocking horse. He opens his mouth to speak, but then he feels pain shoot through his jaw, and he whimpers, rubbing at his gums uselessly. 

“Oh, no, sorry...I wasn’t looking at that, I promise,” Martin assures him, sitting forward in his seat. “Ah...Elias switched it out while you were resting. He gave me quite a fright, you know? Covered in your blood a-and…carrying a bucket of your teeth...” He swallows, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you okay?” 

Jon sits up in the bed, once again gnawing at the teether. He nods, before wincing as he bites down a little too hard, checking for a moment to make sure he hasn’t opened any wounds. 

He hasn’t. However, he does look up to find Martin staring at him with an odd expression. 

“Ah?” he says, not able (or, rather, _willing_ ) to say much else. 

Martin winces, giving him an apologetic look. Then, he sighs, running his hand through his hair. “He really took your teeth, didn’t he?” 

Jon smiles weakly. Martin sucks in a breath at the sight. 

“Ah geez…” he mutters, twisting his hands together. “Listen, I—I _know_ you have another pair growing in, t-turning into a monster and all that, but I just…” He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Jon, he shouldn’t have—he shouldn’t have done that. He can explain it away as ‘for the best’ all he wants, but the fact of the matter is he—he _hurt_ you. And I don’t...I’m sorry, I know I don’t...I don’t exactly _know_ anything about medical stuff, but I sincerely doubt that _this_ was needed, I really, really do.” 

Jon stares blankly at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He thinks a part of him was vaguely aware of this, that Elias was probably just toying with him, ripping out his teeth for funsies rather than any actual concern for his health. But then, where the _hell_ does that leave him, if that is indeed the case? He’s still missing his teeth, still let Elias go through with the procedure anyway. He still let him pet him and comfort him afterwards, let him hold him as he fell asleep. Not of that changes with the obvious revelation that Elias doesn’t _care_ about him. 

In fact, that just makes it worse. Because then what the hell was all that soothing and fussing for? Jon still isn’t sure himself. It can’t be anything good, but the thought of it being malicious kind of makes him want to cry. 

But if it’s not supposed to be malicious, then what _is_ it supposed to be? Jon doesn’t know, and once again, the uncertainty of it all makes his eyes burn. 

Martin must catch the discomfiting thought cycle Jon has trapped himself in. “Sorry,” he says, biting his lip. “I uh...I have medicine for you. Pain medicine.” 

Jon nods blearily, already missing the blissful emptiness of sleep. Tragically, his teether is already starting to warm in his mouth, and while chewing on it is still oddly comforting, it lacks the soothing numbingness of the cold. Pain medicine definitely sounds nice right now. 

Shakily, he takes out his teether and holds out his hand. Martin smiles faintly, and he passes over two little red pills. He also hands him a suspiciously childish looking blue and green cup with a lid, and Jon is far too sleepy to ask any questions. It sure looks like a sippy cup though. Probably Elias’s doing, but Jon doesn’t want to dwell on that, or the questions it raises. 

The water is cool in his mouth and on his throat as it washes down his pills, and he realizes quickly that he hasn’t had the chance to really wash his mouth of the blood taste yet. He takes a few more big sips, swishing it around his gums and tongue and swallowing it down. It’d be a waste to try to find a place to spit it out, and he is pretty thirsty, anyway. 

After he’s had about three quarters of the water, he sets it down on the cot next to him and rubs at his mouth. Needless to say, he’s not used to this. He’d been hoping to have at least another thirty or forty years before he started to lose his teeth, and yet here he is, all gums. At least he has the comfort of a new pair coming in, but who knows how long that’ll take? 

“Do you want ice cream?” Martin asks out of the blue. 

Jon looks up at him in surprise, chewing on his fingers unthinkingly. 

“Um...Elias had me run down to the store to get you some ice cream. I know you um, I know you like rum and raisin, but I bought you vanilla, if that’s okay? I just...I just figured that without, y’know, teeth, you would want something you didn’t have to chew.” He looks at Jon consideringly, before smiling ever so softly. “Though maybe I was wrong about that?” 

Jon pauses, suddenly cognizant of where his hand is. He scowls, taking his fingers out of his mouth and wiping them on his shirt. God, that’s embarrassing. He really couldn’t help it though. It felt _good_. 

“Bleh,” he says, and then immediately feels infantile for it. Maybe he should try words, it’s been a while since he’s spoken. “Uh...ice cream soun’s nice.” 

Talking is awful, actually. He hates the weird way the words form with his teeth missing, clumsy and undignified. He grunts, shoving the teether back in his mouth. 

Martin chuckles, soft and sympathetic. “Alright. I can bring it to you, if you’d like?” 

Jon shakes his head, rocking himself a little before pushing himself onto his feet. Hell no he’s not being left alone here. “Wanna come with you.” 

“Oh.” Martin’s voice is soft and breathy, and he stands up as well. “Okay. Yeah, alright.” 

Jon smiles a little, offering his free hand to Martin. Martin hesitates for a moment, before taking it, giving it a squeeze. They head out of document storage and head toward the breakroom. 

They walk in silence for a few moments, hand in hand. The touch is steadying, warm and safe, and Jon smiles faintly, knocking slightly into Martin’s side. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, his gaze averted, voice muffled by both his lack of teeth and the teether firmly in his mouth. 

Martin hears him anyway, and he swings their hands a little. “You’re welcome, Jon,” he says softly back. “I’m sorry, that um…” He shakes his head and sighs, biting his lip. “I’m just sorry.” 

Jon shrugs, lifting his head a little as they enter the breakroom. “No’ your faul’,” he mumbles. He looks up at Martin and smiles, squeezing his hand a little tighter. 

They stand there for a moment, neither of them willing to break apart yet. Something heavy settles in Jon’s chest, and he sighs in a weak attempt to let it out. He feels like he’s on the precipice of breaking down, of the realization of just how truly _permanent_ this all is. Not just the removal of the teeth, but the removal of his humanity as well. 

And then there’s Elias, and his weird, inscrutable behavior. And the fact that Jon didn’t exactly hate any of it, despite how unwanted it was. 

“Are you okay?” Martin asks softly. 

Jon shakes his head. Gums down harder on the teether.

“Is there anything I can do?” 

Jon sighs shakily, and he nods. “Ice cream?” he asks softly. He just wants to eat something sweet and go back to bed. He wonders if it’s the pain medication or the fact that his body is changing that’s making him so goddamn tired. 

“Alright,” Martin says with a sad smile. “Do you want to sit down?” 

He nods, and Martin guides him into one of the chairs. Jon settles in, but he continues to hold onto Martin’s hand, squeezing a little tighter. 

“Jon?” 

“Mm. Sorry,” he says, holding on for a little bit longer before finally letting go. He uses his now free hand to trace patterns on the table surface, allowing the motion to distract him from his potential downward spiral. 

Martin watches him for a moment, practically radiating concern. But then, finally, he heads over to the fridge and gets out the ice cream from the freezer. 

He prepares two bowls and brings them over, setting one in front of Jon, interrupting his imaginary fingerpainting. Jon startles a little, before looking up at him and smiling in embarrassment, pulling the bowl closer to him. 

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, his voice warbling. 

“You’re welcome, Jon,” Martin murmurs, hesitating for a moment before patting his shoulder. He sits next to him at the table, pulling his chair closer to Jon’s, and he radiates a warmth that almost brings tears to Jon’s eyes. 

They sit there, eating in silence. The ice cream is nice and soft in Jon’s mouth, the cold feeling good on the sore spots, and for a moment he lets the rest of the world melt away. It’s just him and Martin and the ice cream, and nothing else matters. 

And that’s good enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> pls give kudos if only for the fact that i made myself gag multiple times while writing it :'(( (ignore the fact that it's because i was trying to see how far i could pry my own jaw open listen—) 
> 
> [novocaine by ghost and pals & creep-p](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UdpwOLSKMLA) was far from the only song i listened to while writing this but it is pretty fitting so ahdfslksdjf? song rec ig 
> 
> find me at my [tumblr](https://twi-writes.tumblr.com/) i swear i'm gonna start using it again soon :'D 
> 
> IMPORTANT EDIT i forgot to mention this is called "baby's first fangs" in my google docs i feel like y'all deserve to know that


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